


almost there and nowhere near it

by stanielthemaniel



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Playing it fast and loose with my knowledge of serious injuries and US geography, it's a road trip fic babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanielthemaniel/pseuds/stanielthemaniel
Summary: “Why don’t - why don’t we just leave? You and me, man. Let’s get out of this fucking town."In the aftermath of It, Richie and Eddie drive.





	almost there and nowhere near it

**Author's Note:**

> _“We’re almost there and nowhere near it, all that matters is we’re going”_

Eddie survives. 

Somehow, impossibly. 

Despite pretty much every odd in this sinking, rotting helltown pointing to their immediate and painful demise, they all make it out. 

It’s touch and go for a minute there. No one’s really quite sure how they manage to pull it off. All they know is that they refuse to let Eddie die down there, where It died. Where they _killed_ It. So they haul him up, slippery with blood and growing fainter every second, and they make it out of that damn house the way they’ve done everything else that’s ever mattered - together. 

They break just about every traffic law in the book, park illegally, yell at several unsuspecting nurses as they burst through the doors. Mike paces so much the worn down carpet in the waiting room will never be the same. Bev makes multiple coffee runs and doesn’t touch a single cup. Ben drinks more than enough to make up for it, leg bouncing and teeth clenching. Bill interrogates every doctor he sees, stutter more pronounced the longer they go without answers. Richie shakes and shakes and shakes. 

They get reassurances, vague and optimistic and enough to set their teeth on edge - Eddie’s stable. 

He fought a killer clown from space, faced his fears and saved Richie’s life and got stabbed through the gut, hoisted in the air like some kind of sick prize, blood filling his mouth and Richie’s name on his lips. He got torn from the inside out, a gaping hole where organs used to be and an unknown kind of terror filling his eyes. 

But now he’s _stable_. They don’t know what that means, really, for Eddie and the rest of his life. But it’s supposed to be enough. For now, it has to be. 

Hours turn into days, as Eddie’s put into a medically induced coma as he begins to heal. They’re allowed to visit him, then, no more than two at a time in half hour increments. Bev and Richie go first. 

As soon as they lay eyes on him, Richie continues his not-so-beloved tradition of suddenly and violently puking onto whatever surface is closest - in this case, it hits Eddie’s IV bag on the way to the ground. They’re politely asked to leave as sanitation comes in to decontaminate, and Richie only leaves when Bev tightens her grip on his hand and guides him out. 

Eddie looked so _small_. 

The room is cleared for visitors again soon enough, and they take it in shifts for the entirety of daily visiting hours, only leaving each night at the nurse’s exhausted insistence. 

Inbetween, there’s drives to and from the townhouse that suddenly feels too big for just five of them. There’s scalding showers that never leave them feeling clean, the memory of Neibolt coating them like some kind of mutated second skin. There’s Bev and Ben now sharing one room instead of two, the shock of finding a slice of happiness in between everything else enough to make them feel like they can take a breath, can take two. 

There’s also police interrogations, because, oh yeah, Richie killed a guy a few days ago. Henry may have been a crazy, convicted murderer, but the cops can’t exactly blow past the fact that Richie stuck an axe in his head. 

Not to mention Bill being spotted fleeing the scene of a grisly child murder; the lot of them standing on the front lawn as Neibolt collapsed in on itself; none of them being able to give a straight answer about what happened to Eddie. 

It’s like the town has finally woken up. Like everyone’s finally shaken off some fog they didn’t know was clouding their minds, like they’re finally seeing what’s right in front of them. That feeling of constantly being watched, of something rotting right below the ground they stand on, can finally begin to fade. They may never notice the change, may never know something was wrong in the first place, but they still _feel_ it. 

It also seems to mean that the police are actually doing their jobs. This spells bad news for the Losers for all of a few days, but in the end nothing comes of the investigation. It shouldn’t be possible. Looking at hard evidence, the whole killer clown aspect taken out of the mix, at least a few of them should be facing down jail time. 

But it’s not quite possible in the way that a lot of things concerning the Losers are - a certain thrumming through their veins that speaks of something closer to magic than any logical explanation they could use to explain it away. 

And, eventually, Eddie wakes up. 

He snorts awake with all the grace of a disgruntled cat, squinting around as he croaks out a disbelieving “What in the _fuck_”. 

Richie cries, head pillowed on Eddie’s lap and shoulders shaking. Eddie looks touched for all of thirty seconds, and then he’s bitching about Richie getting snot all over his blankets. Richie looks _delighted_. 

A few days more, and Eddie’s discharged from the hospital. They’re all there for the big exit, Bev pushing his wheelchair and Bill holding as many gift shop stuffed animals as he can carry. 

They take him back to the townhouse because they don’t know where else to go, really. They don’t quite know what this means. 

The answer, it turns out, is this: they’re leaving. 

Not all at once, not that day. But it’s hanging there, in the air, the finality of it. They’re going to leave Derry. They’ll probably never come back. There’s nothing left for them here. 

Bev and Ben go first, together - suddenly, finally. 

There are tears, and hugs, and a quiet heartbreak that underlies their goodbye. But there’s an excitement now, too. It’s like they’ve been living on pause - twenty seven years of waiting - and now they can finally _go_. 

And they’ll remember this time. They don’t know how they know, but they do. So Bev and Ben get in a car and drive away, but it doesn’t feel like an ending. Losers are for life, after all. 

Bill is next. He seems excited, though he clings to every one of them like his life depends on it before he goes. He promises to call them all often enough that they’ll be sick of him, straps Silver to his roof, and then he’s gone. 

Mike has some planning to do before he goes. His whole life is still in Derry, after all. But it doesn’t have to be, anymore, and that thought brings some new kind of light to his eyes. He’s going to see the sun. 

That leaves Richie and Eddie, and they seem to realize it at the same time. It’s a thought that makes Richie want to dig his heels in, cling and cling and never let go, whatever that ends up looking like. 

Eddie, on the other hand, acts like reality is a cold bucket of water that God just dumped directly on his head. 

“Holy shit, my _job_! My vacation days ran out like three weeks ago, what the fuck am I gonna do? Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to go to _court_, I hit another car like the day before I got here, does anyone know anything about that? Has anyone called here for me, has-” He breaks off, eyes widening. “Has my _wife_ called? God, fuck, how did I forget about my wife? I have to go, I need to go, I need to get home, I…” 

Eddie never quite manages to finish his rant before he stumbles his way upstairs. A whirlwind of manic energy, and then he’s slamming down the stairs with his hundred pound suitcases and every pharmaceutical product under the sun, on his way to the parking lot. 

He’s nearing his car before Richie finally catches up to what’s happening, breaking out of whatever shock-like state Eddie’s sudden outburst caused. He trips over his feet in his urgency to follow, catching Eddie just in time and pounding on the driver’s side window. 

Eddie rolls it down, and Richie stares at him. “What in the _goddamn_ hell, Eddie?” 

Eddie scowls. “What?” 

“Were you not even gonna say goodbye?” 

“Good_bye_, Rich, okay? I’m sorry, I’ll call you when I get there, but I have to go, it’s been _weeks_-” 

“Exactly, it’s been weeks! If your wife isn’t hooking up with the poolboy by this point, odds are she’ll still be waiting for you if you leave in the morning instead.” 

“I live in New York, asshat, I don’t have a poolboy, I don’t even have a washing machine-” 

“I don’t have a washing machine either, you’re not special-” 

“I didn’t say I was _special_, there’s nothing special about spending two hours at the laundromat every Tuesday morning-” 

“That sounds stupid, just live in filth like the rest of us, bucko-” 

“Don’t call me bucko, you fuckhead-”  
“Well if the shoe fits your bizarrely tiny feet-” 

“Richie!” Eddie cuts him off. “Spit out whatever the fuck you’re trying to say or I’m hitting the gas right fucking now and I won’t slow down if you get in my way.” 

“Kinky, Eds, how hard would you hit me?” Eddie turns on the engine. Richie swallows, props his elbows on the car door and leans his head in closer. “Okay, okay. What I’m trying to say is - don’t leave.”

Eddie meets his gaze, going quickly from shocked to challenging. “Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want you to, okay? I don’t have some big, grand, fucked up reason. I don’t think I need one though. I don’t want you to go because it sounds miserable and you have the most _boring_ fucking job in the world, and I would miss you.” He gets quieter, now. “And because I don’t think you’d be happy. I want you to be happy, Eds.” 

Eddie’s eyes are wide now. “What would I do instead?” 

Richie rolls his eyes. “God, do I need to have an answer for everything? Do I look like Jesus or some shit to you?” 

Eddie eyes him, scrutinizing. “Well he _was_ homeless for a while there.” 

Richie lets out a sharp laugh. “Fuck you, Kaspbrak.” He leans back slightly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Why don’t - why don’t we just leave? You and me, man. Let’s get out of this fucking town. Breathe some air that doesn’t stink like those fuckin’ sewers. We can figure the rest out later.” 

Eddie looks away, staring out the windshield. His hands twist together slightly before his fingers start tapping out an erratic beat on the steering wheel. He sucks in a big breath, then two. And then he nods his head. 

“Okay. Yeah, let’s go.” 

Richie blinks. “Seriously?” 

Eddie whips his head back around. “_Yeah_, seriously! Were _you_ not serious? I swear to god Richie, if this is some kind of fucked up joke-”

“No, no, no, I was totally serious! I just didn’t think… whatever, yeah, great! Road trip! Let’s do this shit!” 

“We can’t ‘do this shit’ until you get in the car, numbnuts.” 

“Right, right, getting in the car. Slide over, spaghetti head.” 

Eddie snorts, an involuntary reaction to a nickname he hasn’t heard in years, a nickname he might just be over pretending to hate. Then he freezes. “Wait, what do you mean, slide over? I’m driving.” 

“Uh, no you’re not.” 

“_Uh_, me sitting behind the wheel seems to indicate otherwise.” 

“Yeah, that’s why I told you to shove it, so then _I’ll_ be behind the wheel, see how that works?” 

“Obviously I see _how that works_, what I’m saying is it’s not gonna happen-” 

“Eddie, you just got out of the hospital, you’re supposed to be taking it easy-” 

“Great, I’ll stick to back roads if it makes you feel better-” 

“It does _not_ make me feel better, thank you for asking-” 

“Okay, great, highway it is then-” 

“Eddie,” Richie says finally. “You got skewered like a steak less than a month ago and I’m pretty sure you don’t have a spleen. Buck up, it’s not like I’m sticking you in the trunk.” 

Eddie finally, _finally_, slides into the passenger seat, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “...don’t need a _spleen_ to drive, perfectly fucking capable-” before he trails off to quietly for Richie to hear. 

And then they’re both in the car, buckled in and ready to go, knowing nothing except that they need to go and can’t look back. 

And they’re forty and thirteen and fearless and more scared than they’ve ever been. 

And they start to drive.

**Author's Note:**

> What is it about the idea of a road trip fic that just makes me go feral, like i've barely started this and i'm already going _thru_ it 
> 
> Also???? How do people write It fics without Stan?? like emotionally how do they do it?? I got a quarter of the way through this chapter and was like oh,,,,oh no,,,, where did he go


End file.
